“I don’t believe in friends and family discounts and freebies,” I explain to her. “I believe that family and friends should be the supportive ones, especially for small businesses, and that means paying for goods and services.” I can see the appreciative look in Lizzie’s eyes.
“Thank you, but I’m letting you know now that I’m applying a staff discount.” I know when I’m beat, and when she’s out of earshot to fetch the bill, I whisper to Simon, “Stubbornness runs strong in your family, I see.” I earn myself a snort, which delights me. When she returns I pull out my wallet and see the napkin I put in there back in Aspen. The one with the cartoon drawing of us on it. I hand it to Simon.
“What’s this?” he asks, his face a picture of cute confusion.
“Remember our date in Aspen?” I ask and he nods. “The server drew it and gave it to me when I paid the bill.”
“It’s really good, we should frame it.”
“Frame it?” I hadn’t given much thought about what to do with it. I’ve looked at it a few times over the last month when I’ve been missing him, but I’ve always tucked it back into my wallet, carrying him around with me. But I guess now he’s here I don’t have to do that.
“Yes, as a memento of our first date.”
Framing it feels special, creating a permanent souvenir of us. A solidity we haven’t had before. The fire Simon ignited in me back in Aspen has spread into so much more, a warmth that fills every fibre of my soul. The picture represents that change of state. Idon’t smirk, but I smile widely as I take his hand when we leave his aunt’s cafe and walk down the street on our first shopping trip together.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
SIMON
The cold mid February wind whips round me as I get out of the car. It almost manages to wrench my papers out of my hands, but I hold them tight to my body. I can see that the building in front of me still retains the shape of the stable block it would have been years ago. It’s a U-shaped stone building, but the large glass doors it has in the centre with several down the right hand side of the building make it look more modern and match the restaurant and events centre it’s become. I turn left and head towards the door marked offices, ready for my interview with Gabriel.
It starts to drizzle as I walk across the courtyard area, and I can imagine Andrés complaining about it. He still hates the winter weather here. I have taught him there are some upsides to the cold and damp—that we can fully appreciate coming home to a warm house, drink hot chocolate with marshmallows, and then make out. He’s fully embraced having sex on a rug in front of the blazing wood burner over the last couple of weeks. I shake myhead; I definitely don’t need my thoughts full of a naked Andrés right now.
I haven’t told him about my interview. I deliberated about it for a while but decided against it. I know he’ll be thrilled and encouraging, but I don’t want his excitement to affect my performance in the interview or cloud my judgement in making a decision if I have to. So far my job searches haven’t gone as well as I’d hoped. I’ve had three interviews. The first, I didn’t get, which is fair enough. The second, I took one look at the place and knew that the job they’d advertised wasn’t what the job really was and left before going through with the interview. The final one, I was offered the job but turned it down. The place was chaotic and messy and the owners didn’t really know what they were doing, but didn’t seem aware of that either. I could imagine that it would be a constant struggle to try and get them to change, which I suspect is why they were looking for a new head chef. Andrés has been wonderful, helping me through the disappointment of each of those and giving me pep talks, but I still didn’t tell him about this interview. Nothing apart from letting him know I’d applied a couple of weeks ago. He answered with a simple thank you that I’d considered it.
I enter the door marked private, and it opens onto a large room that looks like it could be a staff area. There’s a few comfortable chairs as well as a couple of tables with chairs underneath. Along one side is a kitchen area with a few cupboards, a sink, a toaster, microwave, kettle, and coffee machine. Gabriel is standing by it and turns when I enter.
“Hello, Simon. I’m making a coffee, would you like one?” he asks.
“Yes please, a latte will be fine.”
“Great, I’ll just finish these and we’ll get started.” He turns back to the machine and I wander about the room looking at what’s on the walls, getting a feel for the place. There are a few framed prints of polo matches, and I remember the thrill of watching the game in Aspen. Andrés tells me the season starts in a couple of months, and I’m excited to see it played on grass this time. There’s also a large floor plan of the building—the usual, showing fire exits, extinguishers, and other important information—but I can understand the layout. I can see the restaurant, the kitchen, bar area, and what looks to be a ballroom or large event space. Then there are the offices where we are, and an empty space to the left, which just has “Phase 3” written on it.
Gabriel comes to stand beside me and offers me a cup.
“Looking at the layout?” he asks with a smile.
“Of course. I like how you’ve managed to make an interesting restaurant out of some stables.”
“Well, the stables were already interesting in their own way, but no longer suitable for modern horse-keeping methods. So we’ve enhanced some of the old features and I’m pretty pleased with how it’s turned out. If you’re ready, we’ll go along to my office.” I nod, and he leads the way along a corridor that exits off the staff room. There are several doors, which I assume are all offices, and he leads me to the end one and opens the door. We’re still in part of the old stables, but it feels surprisingly modern. There’s a desk, but instead of facing the door like I expected, it’s turned around and looks out of the window opposite. Gabriel shows me to a round table with three chairs arranged about it that sits in the corner of the room. I take a seat and put my papers down while he fetches a notebook from his desk and joins me. He must have seen my face.
“I don’t go in for that talking to people across a desk type of thing. Who wants to stare at a door all day? I much prefer keeping an eye on what’s happening outside,” he explains. “I can see right down to the new stable complex from here.” I glance quickly out the window and can see that there is a great view across parts of the estate.
He takes a seat and then starts asking me a few questions, the usual ones. He has all the information on my CV I sent him, so it’s usually a test to see if I was telling the truth, or can at least remember what I’d written. He asks about the types of catering I’ve done, including for events, which makes sense as he put that requirement in the advert. Then he asks a few more in-depth questions, like what did I like the most and least about a place? What were the greatest challenges? I think carefully about each one before answering. I can’t tell if he likes my answers or not but I don’t feel it’s going too badly. Then he begins to tell me about the job.
“I want to tell you a bit more about what I’m trying to do here. The way I see it, the restaurant will be open to the public on Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays, pretty much all year round. Except when we have events, either ones we arrange or ones that have been booked with us, which could be corporate or social. In that case, the restaurant wouldn’t be open to the public and the events could happen on any day of the week. So I need someone who’ll be flexible with that.”
“It all sounds okay so far,” I say when he pauses for a swig of his coffee. He relaxes a little and sits back.
“I want you to understand that I’m not looking for just a head chef. I’m looking for a catering manager. I’m building a team here, and I expect that person to be a part of the team, to work with the centre manager, the bar manager, and the equestrianteam. That will include ideas for events, for marketing, and for how we make this place successful. There will be a marketing person, so it’s not like you’d have to be doing all that side of things, but creative input is important.”
As he talks, my excitement rises. It’s all the work I would have to do if I ran my own restaurant like I’d dreamed of and planned to do. Apart from producing excellent food, these are the details I was looking forward to, which so far none of the other jobs I’ve applied for have required. In all of those it would just be creating the same old food every day, or producing someone else’s vision. I try to keep a lid on the enthusiasm that’s bubbling inside me, but I can’t help asking my own questions.
“So, for events, you’ll be needing menus created and costed, things like that?”
“Exactly, and of course tailored to the event.”
“Yes, a conference working lunch would be different to say, a wedding breakfast. Are you planning on offering weddings?” I ask.
